Loved and Lost
by KJS
Summary: Pre-RENTfic. Mark's life isn't perfect, but he does have his friends, his work, and his beloved Maureen. But when things start to change, he'll have to deal with his fear of isolation...


RENT belongs to Jonathan Larson. It's his genius that created it, I only borrow from it to free my own imagination.

Author's Note: This story takes a few liberties on the facts presented by RENT. They were needed to serve my own purposes. Instead of Collins being at MIT for seven months before being fired, he'll only be there for a month or so in my timeline. Several other dates of a similar nature have been pushed around... I do apologize for it! It was partially necessary, and partially a result of me not listening to RENT for nearly a year (of course, I only listen to it *after* I've finished the story and realize my errors... Sigh...). This story probably takes place in early November of that same year that everything started for our favorite bohemians.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this! It's my first RENT fic, and I'm proud of it. My fascination with Mark demanded to be written. I've always wondered about him and Maureen, so here's my attempt to give a glimpse into them, and a glimpse into everything else this evolved towards.

Also, while I'm making notes, I'd like to say hi to rookie2k and Fianna, for not only producing great stories that helped fuel my desire to write RENTfic, but for helping me on the forum with my puzzlement on describing. I've decided everyone in RENT has green hair and violet eyes. ;) This story also goes out to any author who has produced a truly moving piece, the kind that makes the inner creative fire burn for the rest of us...   
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**_Loved and Lost_**

"It is good to have an end to journey toward; but it is the journey that matters, in the end." -Ursula K. Le Guin

"I'll die as I have lived-- alone." -Lord Byron, 'Manfred'

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Mmm. Baby, it's early. You should go back to bed." My attempts to roll out of her grasp failed, those soft arms tightening around my waist as I found myself unable to move anymore. Damn. She always had that power over me. Her word was my pleasure.

"I should get home, get to work. You should get to work," I murmured, letting the grin creep up my face as she instinctively pinched my arm, her other hand drifting to pinch.... elsewhere.

Those beautiful eyes, such perfect orbs as have ever been seen, slowly opened, their cattish blue stare narrowing on me. God, I loved it when she got that disgruntled look on her face. It made her seem so... sweet. "Don't be my mother, Mark. Besides, I'm not working today. Not till tonight. Only in the evening can I create my masterpiece." I knew she was awakening now, her arm flailing out in an attempt of a grand gesture, before one flopped back down and smacked me on the nose. Ow.

"Well, I've got to get back home, anyway. I want to see how Roger's doing. I shouldn't have left him alone...," I murmured. There it was. That dark thought that crept up every time my mind escaped the realms of sleep. Roger. Roger. God, I worried about him. Collins had been the subject of my worry for the past year, after he got infected. Within the last seven months, with Roger's increasing drug addiction, I had gotten a new focus. At least he was clean now. But at such a price.... April wasn't that bad, she just couldn't face things. People always told me I was hiding behind my camera, but April and Roger were the people trying hardest for an escape.

"You needed a night off, baby. Roger said he was going to be okay. Besides, Collins is with him. Let the boys bond." Maureen. My sanity. Roger didn't understand how I got this crazy, feline creature to be my girlfriend. Even I didn't understand it, some days. But I was damned lucky for it.

As I fumbled for my glasses, I put on my best pout. I was good at sulking. Batting my eyes in a little puppy dog stare, I swooned onto her chest and gave a pitiful sigh. "Don't I count as one of the guys?"

"You're a *man*," she purred into my ear, playfully batting me away. "A man who has to do some work." Just as quick as she refused earlier, she rolled out of bed and flung back the covers, making me wince as the cold air hit me. Women. I'll never understand them. Shivering, I rummaged for my clothes and managed to slip back into them, my favorite sweater warming me up quickly. Maureen just wrapped a thin, barely-covering robe around herself, before sliding her arms around my waist and leaning forward to give me a peck on the lips. "If you come by tonight, you can help me with my new performance piece. You'll want to film it, won't you?" Those liquid eyes once more focused on me, and I was helpless to do anything but nod. "There's my favorite stage manager," she smirked, giving me a pat on the cheek before sauntering into the bathroom, tossing one last look over her shoulder. "Love you."

"I love you, too," I breathed, just letting the goofy grin on my face retreat as I exited her apartment. Mornings like this, everything was right in the world.

The trip back to the loft was a short one. Strolling down the New York streets, I took the time to browse along at the vendors. Sure, I didn't have the money, but someday.... I'd buy myself a better camera the day I got a check from a film. I knew it. I'd buy some decent food, too. The rumble in my stomach hurried my steps as I passed the Life Cafe, now nearing the building. Roger and I had shared the loft forever, but it was lonelier now without everyone else. Just us, the last two of the bunch to stay in the building. Benny had turned into a traitor, a snake within our ranks. Collins decided to get out on his own, and it seemed like any day he'd get that teaching job. Maureen decided she wanted her own place. I'd put up a protest at first, not seeing the value of her moving out when one of us would be over with the other all the time, but she claimed she needed her space. If it weren't for what happened to April, I might be alone there.

Sometimes, I wish I was. For all that Roger had been doing, destroying himself with drugs, at least he could still smile at me. At least he didn't have a death sentence looming over him.

I took the stairs two by two, enjoying the feeling of just stretching out my legs and getting the exercise. I've never been any kind of big, buff guy, but I liked working out from time to time. It distracted me after a bad day of filming, or after a fight with Maureen.

"Roger? You here?" Pushing open the door to our loft, I carefully shuffled into the room. Even if I lived there, it's never seemed quite right since Roger returned. I loved having him back, but I always felt like I'm in a library and need to talk in some sort of hushed voice.

No answer. I tried again. "Roger?" I approached his room cautiously, poking my head in. Roger was indeed there, sitting by the window and just staring out blankly. His eyes were what always scared me since he returned. Every time I looked at them, their dullness, I felt throat clog up and a pain that just lingered near my heart. "Hey, Roger. How are you?"

He didn't look at me, didn't even turn. "Mark. Hi."

"So.... where's Collins? Didn't he say he was going to be here?" I tried to keep my voice as cheery as possible.

"Yeah," Roger answered slowly, barely seeming to register my presence. "He's gone, though. I wanted him to pick me up a box of cereal." The words 'I wanted to be alone' hung in the air, going unsaid between us. He knew that I understood, and he probably knew that I didn't want to hear them.

"Well, um... I just wanted to see how you were," I shifted slightly, distinctly uncomfortable. Edging back to the door, I escaped once more out of his room. It was after a moment of hesitation that I poked my head back in, revealing what I saw before. The dark clouds outside let little light shine on Roger's face, and he seemed lost in the dreary sky. I knew it was a stupid move, but I had to say it.

"It'll be okay, Roger."

Without looking, I turned and retreated to my own small, cramped room. Throwing myself on the bed, I let the script pages that had been scattered across it fly up into the air and flutter to the floor, caught in the same gravity as the rest of us. I rolled over, burying my face in my pillow and inhaling the faint scent of cigarettes, Cheetos, and Maureen's shampoo. "Chicken," I muttered to myself as my glasses pressed into my face. I was a coward. I didn't want to face Roger. Last time I'd said something like that, he screamed at me, but now I said it anyway and just ran off. Chicken. Complete chicken.

God, I didn't want him to be mad. He didn't need any more pain or my stupid platitudes. He was the only one that kept me from being truly alone in the loft. Isolation... that was my biggest fear, the one thing I felt a shiver go through me whenever I began to feel its grip. That's the reason I made sure to be surrounded by my friends, by Maureen. 'What'll I do if I'm ever truly alone in the world?' I mused, not quite sure of the answer. Go insane? Curl up and die? Both seemed likely prospects.

Sighing, I once more shifted, rolling onto my back and staring at the ceiling. "Work," I said aloud. "That's why I'm here. Work." My hands instinctively went for my camera, which was gently nestled in its case, tucked underneath my bed. I used my fingers to grasp a few pages while I was at it, dragging them up and glancing at them.

My film. It was to be my masterpiece. I had so many images running through my head some days, that many of the pages were covered in scrawlings of ideas, half-drawn pictures that would try and once more conjure up the original frames in my mind. I could practically taste it, yet every time I looked back at what I had shot... "Crap," I once more announced to my walls. "That's what it all is. The same old stuff I've been producing."

Every image was alive in my mind, yet why couldn't I express them? They all seemed so dull on film, so flat... Nothing like what danced inside me. But I was determined, and I knew that if I tried hard enough, I could make them come to life.

As I flipped through my notes, the slow realization came upon me that the cloud of near-silence wasn't as complete as I thought it was. There was a muted sound, and it took me only a second to figure out what it was.

"Roger." It was the same thing he'd done a few times in the past days. I once peeked in his room and watched him for nearly ten minutes. He'd just sit there, cradling his guitar, strumming the same note over and over, never deviating. This was what I was hearing. "Well, at least it's *some* sort of emotion..." At least I knew he was still alive.

That's how I spent the next hour, just reading my notes and listening to that same note. At some point, I heard the door creak open and Collins return, but I never once went out to see him. I just listened to Roger and planned how I would create that which I only dreamed of.

It was awhile later that I realized I was hungry. "Hrm, wonder if Collins really got that cereal..." That could make a good lunch. Wincing at the numb feeling in my legs, I struggled off my bed and left my sea of papers and ideas to see what they were up to.

My door swung open, and I strolled out to see Collins juggling a trio of bowls, each filled to the brim with cereal. I don't know how he always manages to afford to buy us food, but he does. "Hey Mark," he greeted, gently setting one of the bowls on the counter and gesturing to it. "I figured you would come out of your isolation soon enough, before you starved to death."

"Hey, maybe being a starving artist will help me finish my project." I grinned slightly, grabbing a spoon and peering closely at it. Hrm. Looked clean.

"Well, I'm going to make sure our other starving buddy isn't. You still going to Maureen's tonight?"

I nodded, chewing the frosted flakes thoughtfully. "Yeah... How'd you know I was going?"

He grinned at me, that same encompassing smile that made me feel like everything was going to be alright, even on the darkest of days. I think that's one of the best things about him, aside from his skill at applying modern philosophy at all the right moments. Collins is alive, in a way most people never even get a glimpse of. "I ran into Maureen down the block. She was carrying a bag of feathers."

"Feathers?" I really didn't want to know what Maureen was up to now. Her performances, while interesting, can get a little on the odd side.

"Yeah... I didn't ask. Well, I'm going to make sure he eats. If he doesn't...," Collins murmured, his voice dropping so that I couldn't hear the end of his creative threat. He'd been so protective of Roger lately, his carefree attitude changing whenever Roger's name came up. Honestly, I was glad. It was good to have someone that could take care of Roger and maybe get through to him. I knew I'd manage to say something wrong (I'd already done it more times than I could count in the past few weeks), but Collins... He knew what to say.

As he vanished into the abyss of Roger's room, I quickly settled down and sat on the broken chair, which had been patched up more times than I could count. It was time for me to eat.

It was a few more quiet hours before I decided it was time to go back to Maureen's. She'd barely told me about her new piece, just saying that it was her best yet, and that I'd love it. She also had a few ideas about the setup she wanted to talk to me about, and I knew she wanted to show this one off. Her eyes always took on this strange glow when she talked about her performing, a fire that was uniquely for that. I loved to see that fire, so I let her talk about her performances as much as she wanted.

I traced the familiar path back to her apartment, and knocked twice on the door. It was barely an instant later that it flew open, revealing the breathless, glowing face of my girlfriend.

Radiance. Passion. Wild. All these words seemed to be made for Maureen, fit her like a glove. She stood there at the door, yanking me inside and slamming it shut behind me. All I could see was her face, those gleaming dark eyes staring into mine with the burning of excitement that came with her artistic moods. The way her hair caressed her cheeks, which were flushed slightly. Her lips... Before I could move, those lips met mine in a hungry kiss as she pressed herself against me. God, I loved her. I felt on fire, every part of me...

"Mark! I'm glad your here!" She stepped back, moving towards a pile of bags that were stacked on the couch. It was then that I noticed what she was wearing, and I could practically hear the creak of bones as my jaw dropped.

Black spandex clung to her, a second skin on her body. The two-piece outfit covered most of her, but the way it dipped down in the front, the way it brought out that elegant neck, that soft skin... And on her back was a pair of swan white angel wings. Perhaps not the most carefully-crafted ones in the world, the wire apparent in a few spots and a few straggling feathers hanging oddly, but with love clouding my eyes, they were perfect. She looked like an angel. A seductive, bad-tempered angel. I watched her lean over the couch, rummaging through a paper bag, and I reached for the camera that I always had slung over my shoulder.

I couldn't help but film her. Her every move seemed to glide, to be filled with the wild and flirtation that was Maureen. She was like a flame, beautiful and deadly. She was like moonlight, smooth to touch. I watched her through the camera, just knowing that I could film her every day, all day, and perhaps create beauty.

She looked up at me, smiling as she noticed the camera on her. She loved that. Forgetting what she was doing, she sauntered over to me, letting sensuality and feline grace resonate in every step. "Don't you ever put that camera down?" She chided, though I knew she loved my filming.

"Why? I like to capture things." And she was worth keeping for all time.

For a moment, I thought that the evening would dissolve into some kind of passion, but instead she just winked at the camera and went back towards the couch, digging around once more. I was a little disappointed. "Well, capture this, Mark. I've got what I need for sound for the show. It's against the persecution of innocents by religious organizations." She gestured to the angel wings, a grin sliding across her lips. "That's what the wings are for."

"Nice," I murmured. That sounded like a Maureen-style protest.

"So, can you help me set up in the lot, then? Maybe Friday would be a good day for it...," she contemplated aloud.

Friday? Not good. "Friday I promised Collins that we'd go out, try and get Roger out of the house."

Unfortunately for me, Maureen doesn't like hearing 'no'. "What?" She pouted, her eyes narrowing slightly, yet making her all the more beautiful. Dangerously beautiful. "You wouldn't do it for me?"

"Well, I mean... I'd do anything for you," I stuttered.

"You would?" Those eyes once more stared into mine, matching her smile. "So you'll do it, then?"

I didn't want to let down Collins and Roger, not even for her. "Can't you do it another night?"

"But I've been hoping for Friday, and there's this new girl on the block who intends to perform in the Lot next week..." The smile turned into a sullen pout. "She's not as good as me, though. But come on, Pookie. You've got to do this for me."

"Well... Sure, fine." I caved. Completely. Whenever she calls me 'pookie' and looks at me like that, I melt. She wears me out, stretches me until I feel like I've been dancing all night. It's the downside to loving Maureen.

That frown immediately changed, lighting up in a way that made me feel as if I could even capture the sun. "Thanks! Oh, you're the best... Since Roger's so down, you'd better get back to your place. I'll stop by and bring him something later... Maybe chocolate, or some better food than you boys keep up there." With something new to think about, she suddenly seemed to forget me.

"Oh. Okay. I'll see you later, Maureen." I paused, wanting to give her a goodbye kiss (and perhaps incentive to let me stay longer), but she didn't seen to notice, going back to cutting up paper plates or fixing her feathers or something. I left.

Everything was quiet back at the loft when I arrived. Collins was on the phone and Roger was apparently still in his room. He was playing, but something had changed. Now he was playing three notes, over and over, occasionally changing their order. I suddenly felt lighter... Maybe he would be okay.

"Hey Mark, been to see Maureen?" Collins's voice suddenly rang behind me, and I turned to glance at him. He had hung up the phone, and was scrawling down a few notes on the old pad of paper near it.

"Yeah...," I couldn't keep the faint grin off my face, though it wasn't the usual blissful one I had when thinking of her. "She seemed eager enough to push me out, though. She loves her performances more than me." It was true, and I had accepted that long ago. Just like I loved my film with my whole heart, she was devoted to her causes.

"That's Maureen."

"Yeah...." I let out a frustrated sigh, flopping back onto the molding, battered couch. Collins had found it on a street corner, being thrown out, and him and I decided it would be perfect for the loft. "I just wish I understood her. Somedays I wonder if I'm ever going anywhere with her. I mean, we fight, she walks all over me... And I can't get enough of it."

"You're a glutton for pain, Mark. Always will be."

I raised an eyebrow, glancing up at him. "You really know how to cheer me up, don't you?"

He gave a low chuckle, raising his eyebrow right back at me with a teasing grin. "Of course. Who else would do it?"

"Hell if I know. Maybe my camera could learn to talk."

"That'd be your dream come true." Collins paused for a moment, rummaging through our bare cupboards and wincing as the handle broke off in his hand. He stared at it for a moment, before unceremoniously dropping it on the counter and changing the subject as it landed with a *clunk*. "You two don't own a single drop of decent tea. Or even decent beer."

I tried to protest in order to defend the dignity of our loft. After all, it wasn't our fault we couldn't afford to go shopping! I nearly spit out the words, before biting my tongue. Collins always bought us the beer, the tea... Hell, he was the one who bought all the food. No wonder Roger and I haven't been eating much, we'd forgotten that we actually had to buy it now that he had moved out. I took a breath, letting it settle in my lungs before exhaling heavily. "Fine. I'll go shopping tomorrow..." A thought belatedly occured to me, and a smirk took its place on my face as I folded my arms over my chest. "You couldn't have picked up some while you were buying cereal?"

"Nope. Sorry. Just the cereal." Collins shrugged, a smirk equaling mine on his face. We just stared at each other for a few moments, an undeclared contest passing between us.

A minute passed, then another. Then... I blinked. Dammit. Ignoring his laughter, I settled back into the dying couch, toying with the end of my scarf. Dammit, dammit, dammit. All this talk about tea was making me thirsty. The more I thought about it, the more I could taste it on my tongue... The loft's shabby walls seemed to be closing in on me. With a quick smile to Collins, I slowly left the comforting embrace of the couch and got to my feet, stretching. "I'm heading to the Life Cafe. Want to join me?" Having no money has never stopped me from getting my Earl Grey.

"I think I'll stay here and keep a watch on the brooding musician we seem to be friends with. Besides, I don't think I'd be too welcomed there." His smiled widened even further, his dark eyes taking on a sudden glint of amusement. A faint snicker welled up from inside of me. I knew he must have done something.... "Apparently," he continued breezily, "they don't appreciate a little riot or two."

The laughter escaped me as mental images swam through my head at what Collins could have done. That glint in his eye told me that it must have been something extravagant this time... "They're not going to kick me out, are they?"

"Just lay low. I'm sure the people working at this hour won't identify you as my friend."

"If they do throw me out, you're shopping tonight."

He just shook his head, letting out a chuckle and a mumble... Something about fires and tablecloth togas? God, I really don't want to know what he did at the cafe.

Dusk had come to New York, and the streets suddenly seemed bleaker than before. Dark, dirty, with trash thrown in the street... The cry of a child interrupted my musing and I was jarred back to reality. Damn, it's cold. Wrapping my scarf even more closely against my neck, I fought back a shiver and hurried up my pace. All the buildings seemed blurry. I was just so tired and I wanted my tea, to cling to its warmth and just sip and relax. That'd be nice. There's nothing like letting everything slip away, like pretending I'm not Mark anymore. Pretending I'm not some little geeky filmmaker with artistic block.

It was when I was a block away, passing by the local convenience store, that I stopped in my tracks. The blare of car horns, the wind, the rustle of wrappers drifting down the street, it all just *died*. Every sound seemed to vanish and my breath seemed to leave me.

All there was in the world was the pounding of my heart. It seemed to slow down to an agonizing crawl, each pulse screaming in my ears as I felt each second of my life drawn out. I wanted to die.

Standing there was Maureen, her arms wrapped around another woman's waist. She was letting out that little giggle I thought was only for me. Maureen was kissing her. Touching her.

If only I were dead.

"Maureen...," I whispered. Well, I thought I whispered it. It must have come out a lot louder than I had thought, because as the words left my lips, she turned and saw me.

A part of my brain managed to get a little satisfaction at seeing the shocked look on her face, the way her lower lip trembled and her eyes seemed to widen. 'Good,' that part growled in my mind. 'Look remorseful, Maureen. Look shocked.' The rest of me, however, was shaking like a leaf. Rage swelled up with tears, hurt with sorrow... The sound of my heartbeat had faded out of my ears, and for a moment I thought that perhaps my wish had been granted and I had died.

Unfortunately, I'm not that lucky.

"Mark?" She put on that loving face, that Maureen face. I could only wonder if she ever really meant it, or if it were just an act to cover up moments like this. "This isn't what it looks like."

Cliché. That's my Maureen. Mine... She used to be mine. "Really?" God, that word came out so much more weakly than I wanted it to. I tried to cover up the way my knees were knocking together with an attempt at a laugh. It seemed more like a strangled squeak. 'Deny it,' part of me begged. 'Come up with a reason, just deny it...' I could have forgiven her. I wanted to. No matter how much a part of my brain raged at her, the rest of me quivered with terror. Maureen couldn't *leave* me, could she? My goddess, my nymph, my continuous parasite...

She stared into my eyes, that dangerously beautiful gaze becoming thankfully blurred as a few tears misted over my sight. I fought them back, waiting for what she would say, for how she would try and explain.

"I'm sorry, Mark," she murmured after a moment of agonizing silence. Her arm left the waist of the other woman, her hand reaching out. She stepped forward, caressing my cheek, and I couldn't stop a tear from rolling down. "Honey, this is Joanne."

Joanne. I never liked that name. "Uh-huh. And you two are what? Friends?" My voice was thick in my throat, practically pleading with her to brush the kiss off with even the flimsiest excuse.

"Look, maybe I'd better go," this 'Joanne' said hastily, giving Maureen a warm look that made me want to wrap my hands around her neck and slowly snap it. I wanted to drain the life out of her and enjoy every second of it. She left with a dignified stroll that only grated my nerves even more.

"God, I'm sorry." Sorry. Her repeating it only made the knife twist farther. "We're... well, I've got to tell you someday." She stood up straight, taking on that confident pose that was so her. Yet even so, I could see her nervousness, the way her devilish grin didn't reach her eyes. She regretted it and I could get a little comfort from that. A little. At least she cared. "I've fallen for her," she said, without even a blink.

"I've been seeing her for two weeks," she continued, not waiting for my jaw to retract from where it was scraping the ground in order to form an answer. Her eyes held mine. "I didn't mean to. I wanted to love you, but after awhile, it just slipped away. Then I met Joanne. Mark, I'm a lesbian."

That's probably the top phrase on the list of things that no man ever wants to hear from his girlfriend in a scenario like this. I mean, if she had left me for another guy, I could understand. I'm a scrawny little filmmaker. I'm not rich, I'm a workaholic, and I'm not exactly the best date... But to be a *lesbian*, and still continue a charade with me? That's... well, that's Maureen, through and through.

"Don't say that," I whimpered, trying desperately to put any strength back into my voice. "You're just confused. I know I haven't been around lately, with Roger being ill and all, but I promise. Just come back to me, and I'll be the best boyfriend ever. Better." My mind was spinning. Any plea I could put forth poured into my mind until I just wanted to scream. "Please, don't leave me. I... I won't take you back later, you know." This was where my strength kicked in, my wavering tones turning to conviction.

I had caught her kissing another man before. It was a year ago, nearly... I had forgiven her. I'd taken her back after a week of her pleas, but not this time. 'Be strong,' I thought, closing my eyes as I gathered my will. If she left... I knew that this would be it. Never again. 'I can give her up.'

She shook her head. "I won't be coming back to you. Pookie," and that stupid pet name rang in my mind like a church's bell upon a death, like nails on a chalkboard, "I am who I am. And I love her. I... I hope we can still be friends." Once more she tried that coy little smile on me, raising an eyebrow as her eyes gleamed with hope.

I could have melted in those eyes. I wanted to, but that damned part of my brain screamed at me to be strong. Be strong? Dammit, I just lost my lover to another woman. I think that breaking down and crying like a baby on the street would be justified at this point. And 'just be friends'? It was like being burned alive. I could feel it eating away at me, but I only nodded numbly. "Yeah. Friends. Sure."

"I mean, I wouldn't want to lose you. Or Collins, or Roger...," she trailed off, once more shifting uncomfortably as I stared at her. Let her be uneasy. I'd stare at her till the end of time if I could. Neither of us moved for a minute. We just stood, her eyes focused on the cracked pavement, mine mesmerized by her. If I only had one more moment with her, truly with her, I'd use it to memorize her every feature. The curve of her lips, the pink flush of her cheeks, the way her hair slid over her shoulders... My Maureen, no more. Now some other woman's, and Maureen would probably lose interest in her within a week. She'd come back to me.

'Yeah, Marky. Keep telling yourself that.' I was living a lost cause. It seemed to shake every cell in my body, but I knew it was true. 'Mark and Maureen' was never to be again... I felt like the world itself was ripped away from me. Finally, I moved my eyes towards the sky, staring blankly up at the darkening blues. "I'll see you later, then." With that final, low phrase, I turned on my heel and headed back home, the tea forgotten.

I barely saw anything on the way back. Everything was melting together, a blurry mess of gray that covered the entire world. A nice color, it matched my mood. By the time I was scaling the steps back up to the loft, the tears that had threatened me earlier had won the battle and were trickling down my cheeks. Her face was burned into my mind, an eternal imprint, and all I wanted to do was claw at my skull until I could get it out and forget about her, forget that I ever knew her.

"Mark?" I slammed the door shut behind me as I entered, making a beeline for my room and ignoring Collins and his query. I didn't want to see Collins and his sympathetic face. I didn't want to hear that same goddamn note being played over and over by Roger. I wanted to curl up and die, preferably in a fiery inferno that would take her down with me.

The door to my cramped room also shut with a considerable banging, but I didn't care. The second I stepped in, I saw her everywhere. She had infested it, from her scent on my bed to the way her smiling face seemed to work its way into all my screenplays.

With a grim smile that felt more like a frown, I carefully took off my jacket and threw it on my bed before rolling up my sleeves. I had work to do.

The camera was the first thing I saw. It was all comfortable and polished, sitting in its battered leather case like a sovereign. I fell to my knees, lifting it carefully from its place among my stacks of papers and piles of dirty laundry that scattered across my floor. It received the same staring treatment as I gave Maureen, after I removed it from the case. I had cared for it so meticulously... With a savage growl, I ripped the film out of it and threw the film against the wall, getting a little satisfaction from the *smack*, and the sound as it it hit the floor. Definitely broken. Scrambling over, I dropped my camera and tore at the film like an animal, trying to destroy every trace of what was on it. It was the one from the earlier in the day, which now seemed like so long ago. I'd laughed and thought that I could capture heaven with her image and those stupid angel wings, with that princess-like smile... I'd only captured a false dream, a little glimpse of hell.

Deserting it, I whirled around and saw the next target leering at me. Papers. Stacks and stacks of ideas, scenes, and storyboards. I ripped them apart, pieces flying in the air like a ragged flurry of snow as I attacked. Within moments, months of work lay strewn at my feet. And I was happy about it.

Yanking open my dresser, I snatched up a few fresh pieces of paper and a pen, my knuckles turning white with how tightly I clutched them. I turned towards my bed and ripped the blankets off, throwing the pillow on the floor. All that was left was the mattress now and I curled up atop it, sticking my jacket underneath my head.

The tears once more flowed freely, and I didn't stop them. I wrote as fast as I could, letting the words and images pour out onto the paper. Even when the ink blurred, I didn't pause to wipe my tears. My efficiency was almost that of a machine, and I didn't let myself be drawn off my course.

Hate. Anger. Everything swelled up in my words, and there was a little part inside of me that was excited and recognized something. The sorrow in my new ideas for a film, the new scenes in my head, created something real. Something that was beyond those flat, lifeless drivel words of before. Every shadow that left my pen was true, and I almost felt content for a moment. "Your film is to be your life now, Marky...," I murmured, my voice rising with anguished delirium. "It loves you. This... This is true."

Documentaries of the hate and pain. That's what I could do. Happiness wasn't true, it didn't make good films. But pain... That could fill up an infinite amount of frames. That would be real, and I could create it now. I was alone, and I could do it.

Alone. I let out a bitter laugh, nearly choking from how raw the crying had left my throat as I continued my work. A few days ago, I would have been terrified. Hell, I *was* terrified of the idea. But now... I was alone, and I could do it. My work was my company. It was my soulmate. I could keep going, as long as I had it.

I had a decent stack of papers next to me after an hour or so. And somewhere along the line, the pain dulled. Only a little, but it was enough. Those few moments on the corner had begun to sink in, and I could feel my mind trying to put in a shield, a defense, or *anything* against the pain. It wasn't working too well, though...

"Mark?" A quiet knock on my door was followed by Collins' concerned voice.

I sighed, ignoring the pain in my throat. "Come in." I knew I had to face him sometime.

His eyes flickered over the destruction I had wrought on my room, barely acknowledging it, though I knew it was whirling through his mind. He didn't say anything, though, and he had the kindness not to ask stupid questions. He knew that I knew he wanted me to tell him what had happened. He didn't need to say it, so I forced myself to spit out the words that I needed to say, even if I wanted to deny it.

"She dumped me."

Understanding was in his gaze, even if surprise wasn't. I guess I was the blind one in the group. "You tore up your stuff because of it?"

"It reminded me of her," I responded, taking another breath before continuing on. "She dumped me for another *woman*."

Now he winced, shaking his head slightly and playing with the fraying threads at the knee of his jeans. "Damn. I'm sorry, Mark."

It didn't seem like the kind of pity it would have been if most people had said it. Collins seemed sincere, so I managed not to snap at him. Instead, I slumped back and began to bang my head against the wall, lightly. "I should have seen it. I was stupid."

"Just blinded by love," he said with a soft smile. "It happens, especially to you."

"Great."

He paused for a moment, silent, before glancing over at me. "You want me to get you something?"

"A knife?" I responded flatly, turning back to my writing. After slowly scribbling a few more notes, I lifted my gaze to where he stood, expectantly waiting. "A drink, at least."

A ghost of a smile once more crossed his face. "That I can do," Collins said, almost cheerfully, before vanishing. I heard the slam of the door, and I knew where he had went. Amanda, the woman who lived underneath us, had the fullest liquor cabinet in the building. She mixed some decent drinks, too. Maybe that'd help me.

After a few more minutes, I realized that my focus had dissolved. All the rage that was boiling within me and poisoning my mind had begun to drain when Collins entered. The faint sound of Roger, once more strumming away at that one note, returned. My leg itched. My hand was sore and cramped from clinging to the pen. I gave in and stretched my arms out, rolling off my bed. I wanted out of that room.

I poked my head out into the main room of our loft, suddenly seeing it in a new light. The floor had mud tracked all over the place and there were cobwebs clinging to the ceiling. The paint peeled slightly in the corners. 'Disgusting,' I thought, taking a careful step forward. 'I'll clean this place up, later...' All this time I'd spent doting over Maureen and what she needed, I'd ignored this place. Since it was going to be 'home' once again, I knew I had to start and tidy it up a bit.

"Broom... Broom.... We *used* to have a broom," I muttered, peering around the room. No broom. Dammit. I flopped onto the makeshift chair, made of a crate, and banged my head against the table. It was only after the third smack against it, done in unison with Roger's playing, that I realized that there was a paper on the table.

"I am regretfully forced to turn down the position based on personal reasons...," I read aloud, scanning the paper. My breath caught in my throat, and I thought my eyes were going to pop out of my head and end up like flies on a windshield against my glasses.

The door's slam made me jump, and I couldn't even blink as I stared at Collins, who balanced a bottle in one hand and a glass in the other. "Amanda comes through, as always," he proclaimed, before turning his head towards Roger's room. "I wish he'd just play for once, it's been too long of just that one note..."

"Collins."

"Or at least tune the damn thing..."

I coughed slightly, clutching the paper in my hands. "Collins," I repeated, looking up at him. It was like I was seeing him for the first time. Collins, whose eyes wearier than I remembered. Collins, who didn't tell me about his acceptance. 'Teaching's his dream,' I mused. 'Well, along with throwing the world upside-down... But...' Suddenly, a few things began to click. Roger. Me. There weren't many things that he'd give up this chance for.

I gritted my teeth, sucking in a breath before letting the paper flutter back down onto the table. "MIT," I said quietly. "You're turning it down?"

Suddenly, his face blanked. The twinkle in his eye dimmed as he turned his gaze from mine. "Yeah. After all, why end up dealing with a bunch of stuffed up professors and students who can't tell reality from video games?"

"Don't bullshit me. I know you wanted that job."

"Jobs come and go, Mark. I've still got a good chance with New York University. I'm staying here. Besides," he added, a slight smile once more lighting his face. "You and Roger can't take care of yourselves. You'd mope yourself to death."

I wasn't willing to let it go. I sunk my teeth in and kept pressing. "You're staying here for us, then?"

"I just want to make sure you two are okay before I head out. Is that so wrong?" Collins even chuckled.

I shook my head, absently tugging at my scarf. "Yes. Yes, it is. I want you to go to MIT." A laugh burst from my lips, the desperate kind that comes when you truly realize how *ridiculous* something is. "You *need* to go to MIT, Collins. It's your dream, for God's sake!"

"Dreams can wait," he responded quietly, sliding over to my side.

I once more shook my head, not entirely believing my ears. Collins, the man who streaked through the Parthenon, who'd vanished for weeks on end on a spur-of-the-moment vacation more times than I could count, was saying *this*? God, he'd give it up because of me and Roger... A heavy sense of guilt descended on me, nearly strangling my mind. I glanced down at the paper again, this time taking it gently between my fingers. Just as gently, I tore it neatly in half and looked up to steadily meet his gaze. "No. You're going." A sigh escaped from my throat and I slowly shook my head. "Look, I'm fine. Okay, I'm a little upset about Maureen. More than a little. But I'll deal with it... Like you said, our relationship wasn't quite paradise." My lips twisted into an odd sort of smile. "I'll recover, though. And now that I'm not stuck on her, I'll take care of Roger. I promise."

"You won't forget to buy the Capt'n Crunch?" I could feel his reluctance giving way, and a tiny smile crossed his face once more. "And try to drag him out of the house every once in awhile?"

"I promise," I repeated, raising my hand and giving a bright beam. It ached and I didn't feel the emotion within me, but I had to convince him. "I'll be a good boy and take Roger out. We'll be fine... I mean, we'll have each other. Right?" The smile tried to escape, but I kept it firmly planted. Every ounce of pleading in my soul was pushed into my eyes as Collins watched me.

A moment passed, then another, before Collins let out a breath. "Fine," he said slowly. "I'll go. But the only way I'll get to keep the job is if I'm there in three days."

Three days? Shit. I thought I'd have more time before he left, even just a little... But I wasn't backing down now. My smile didn't falter. "I'll miss you."

"I'll visit. Don't worry about that one, Mark. I'll be back, and have created enlightenment among hundreds of lazy minds." A thoughtful look came over his face, and I could practically see his mind turning and brushing over the different things he had to do before leaving.

I let out a fake yawn, adjusting my glasses as I gave a sleepy grin. "Well, I think it's been a long enough day. I'm going to turn in. I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Sure. I'll be by in the morning. Take care."

I turned away, dragging myself out of my chair and back to my room, ignoring the creak of the door and the click of the lock as it shut behind him. I didn't even bother to close my own door behind me. My bed was all I wanted right now, and the world be damned if it thought it could keep me away. Flopping back on it and wrapping my jacket around me, I stared up at the ceiling. The series of cracks was almost fascinating.

Alone. That word seemed to spell itself out across the cracking paint. Isolated. Solitary. The Lone Marky. I forced my eyes shut, slipping off my glasses as I tried to ignore the sudden emptiness in my heart. It'd always been there, waiting, but I found ways to block it out. I fell into Maureen and worshipped her. I let my work consume me. I followed my friends, watched them, did everything I could. What did it get me? This stupid loft. Destroyed film. Benny was gone, months ago. Roger was near the edge of his sanity. Maureen had left me. Collins was leaving. I'd done everything I could for them, every stupid little thing I could think of... And the world just walked all over me.

My self-pitying paused for a moment as realization crept over me. The note. That one note Roger had kept playing ceased, and a flicker of concern immediately registered in my mind. What the hell?

I didn't move, however. I remained where I was and continued staring at the ceiling. That was when I heard them. Footsteps. Rolling onto my side, I glanced blearily at the door. Never mind the fact that without my glasses on I couldn't tell if anyone was there anyway.

A pale, blurry hand pushed the door a little farther open, and an equally blurry figure peered in the room. It had to be Roger.

"Mark?" His voice, tired and thin, seemed lost in the darkness of my room. "Hey."

"Roger," I responded in a neutral tone, ignoring the faint hint of joy that sprouted. He was out of his room of his own free will? "What's up?"

Roger moved a step back, and seemed to be looking in my direction. "It'll be okay, Mark." The familiar words echoed through me, mocking my thoughts. Yes, I'll be okay. Alone, miserable, of *course* I'll be okay. The door creaked shut, and I was once more left in my solitary darkness.

I could hear Roger as he headed back to his room. "He sounded sincere," I murmured aloud, taking the time to think back on his appearance. He... seemed to care. The words didn't have that sarcastic touch that was added in my mind, instead being simply what they were: an attempt at comfort.

Roger wanted to comfort me? I rolled over, my back towards the door, and I put my nose nearly against the wall. Someone cared... The little optimistic inner-Mark once more tried to squirm forth, and for a moment I relented and let him speak.

Someone cared. Even if Maureen was gone and Collins was gone, I still had Roger. Both of us were broken now. Somehow, perhaps, we'd make it through. I wasn't quite alone... I had Roger and I had his comfort. Collins would visit. I could do my work, better than before, and let it thrive.

The clouds quickly returned, darkening over those thoughts, but a little hint remained. There was a spark of life left in me, and it did surprise me a little bit. "Alone," I whispered, noting how it stung a little less. The moment I said it, Roger's face seeped into a corner of my mind. As long as I had a friend, I wouldn't be truly alone. I could keep going, and maybe someday, things would really be okay again. For all of us.__

_~Fin_


End file.
